“Okay,” I hear myself say. “I’ll do it.”
Skylar’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”
“Don’t make me second-guess myself. You’re right. The odds of my name being drawn are tiny. And if there’s even a chance that this could give me a real home, real protection, a real fresh start…” I trail off, unable to finish the thought.
“Then it’s worth the risk,” Skylar finishes for me.
“Something like that.”
She squeezes my arm one more time, then guides me back toward the others. The crowd parts as we approach, and I feel the weight of dozens of stares pressing against my skin. I keep my gaze fixed straight ahead and try not to think about how completely out of place I must look in my hiking clothes and muddy boots.
Elder Amelia watches my approach with ancient, knowing eyes. Up close, she’s older than I initially thought—deep wrinkles line her face, and her hair is pure white—but there’s nothing frail about her. She carries herself with the kind of authority that comes from decades of power and responsibility.
“You’ve made your decision?” she asks.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“And you understand what participation means? That if your name is drawn, you will be bound to Connor Langley as his mate?”
“I understand.”
“The spirits guided your feet to this clearing tonight. I felt their presence the moment you stepped into the torchlight.” She reaches out and takes my hand. “Whatever happens next, remember that you were meant to be here. The Hollow does not welcome those who do not belong.”
She releases my hand and turns to address the assembled pack.
“Let it be known that Fern Ramos has agreed to participate in tonight’s lottery. Her name will be added to the bowl alongside the other eligible females.”
The voices swell again, louder than before. I catch sharp looks from several women in the innermost circle withresentment plain on their faces. I don’t blame them for their anger. They’ve probably been waiting for this moment their entire lives, preparing for it, hoping for it. And here I am, a human outsider, inserting myself into their most sacred tradition.
Elder Amelia writes my name on a slip of paper and drops it into the ceremonial bowl. Such a small thing, that piece of paper. Such enormous consequences hang in the balance.
Skylar guides me to stand with the other eligible females, and I feel painfully aware of how different I am from everyone around me. A human among werewolves. A stranger among lifelong pack members. A woman in hiking boots while everyone else wears flowing dresses and ceremonial jewelry.
But I’m here now. I made my choice. There’s no going back.
I find Connor in the crowd one last time. He’s watching me with something that looks almost like wonder, like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.
That makes two of us.
Elder Amelia raises her weathered hands, and the clearing falls silent. She closes her eyes and chants words I don’t recognize, ancient syllables that seem to vibrate in the air around us. Then she reaches into the bowl and stirs through the slips of paper, her fingers moving slowly.
The silence stretches on. No one moves. No one breathes.
Her hand stills, and she pulls out a single folded slip.
My heart hammers against my ribs as she unfolds it, her ancient eyes run over the name written there. For a moment, her face reveals nothing. Then she looks up, and her gaze finds mine across the clearing.
“The spirits have chosen,” she announces. “Connor Langley’s mate will be… Fern Ramos.”
The world tilts beneath my feet.
Voices erupt around me—gasps, whispers, and a few heated protests—but I can barely hear them over the roaring in my ears. One in forty. The odds were one in forty, and somehow my name was the one she pulled from that bowl.
I look at Connor. He stands frozen, his blue eyes wide and locked on mine, his mouth hanging open.
Skylar squeezes my arm and whispers, “Breathe.”
But I can’t. I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t process what just happened.
